The Ghosts You Draw On My Back
by angelwithadevilishside
Summary: Charlotte Weston is a reluctant Vinewood actress, doing minor league roles that her grandfather, Solomon Richards, coerces her into. After one too many tantrums by demanding co-stars, she gets fed up – only to find herself talked off of the ledge by our favorite criminal-turned-producer, Michael De Santa. Will he be able to hold up his promise of being a better man?
1. Ch 1: Rough DraftStory Of A Lonely Man

**Title:** The Ghosts You Draw On My Back

 **Summary:** Charlotte Weston is a reluctant Vinewood actress, doing minor league roles that her grandfather, Solomon Richards, coerces her into. After one too many tantrums by demanding co-stars, she gets fed up – only to find herself talked off of the ledge by our favorite criminal-turned-producer, Michael De Santa. Will he be able to hold up his promise of being a better man, or will each of them fall victim to the Vinewood Dream?

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own GTA V, nor do I own any of the characters contained within (with the exception of Charlotte Weston)

 **A/N:** This is my first ever Grand Theft Auto fanfiction (and first fanfiction at all in the last years), so if I get something terribly wrong, please let me know. There will be a few slight deviations from the original plot, so stick with me! This is chapter one. I know, I know - this first chapter is a little short and came out a bit strange, but I had to get something down to hold myself accountable or I know that this story would never have seen the light of day. I'm already working on a chapter two for y'all. Comments are always welcomed and appreciated; They'll help me know if this is even a story that anyone would want to read.

* * *

"Cut!"

The word echoed throughout the production lot for what seemed like the millionth time that day, groans of the various staff members not lingering far behind. It was one of the warmest days in recent Los Santos memory, leaving everyone sweaty, hot, and just plain exhausted – so of course, this would be the day when her co-star, Milton McIlroy, would choose to try and pull privileges from his Vinewood star status.

"Alright everyone, good work for the day. We'll see all of you first thing in the morning, bright and early – and I swear to Christ that if we have to delay filming because you can't act like adults, I'm gonna start docking someone's pay...and it AIN'T gonna be mine!"

Charlotte found herself rolling her eyes at the director's words. The guy was one of the skeesiest directors left in Los Santos, but her grandfather, the old school man that he was, swore his loyalty to the director and had hired him on to every job in the last ten years. It certainly didn't hurt that this project was already on it's last leg before it even got off of the ground; Directors weren't exactly tripping over each other, clamoring for a chance to claim this latest film.

"Sweetpea, why don't you come on over here for a minute?", the director beckoned, leaving Charlotte wishing that a piece of the set would somehow collapse directly on top of him, crushing him and finally freeing the entire movie cast from dealing with his tyrannical methods any longer. 'It'd honestly be doing the entirety of the world a favor', she mused, chuckling under her breath.

"Look", he began as soon as she was within earshot. "I get that you're Solomon's grandkid and that your Daddy is the one bankrolling this entire lot – congratu-fucking-lations. That won't earn you any favors on _**my**_ set."

Popping her jaw from side to side, Charlotte struggled to maintain her temper. Letting her temper run free, no matter how warranted, would not be the kind of public image she wanted to carry for the rest of her career – although, if she had her way, this wouldn't be her career at all. Her mother's mantra ("play nice, Charlie girl. You'll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.") echoed through her head, forcing a stiff smile to appear on her face.

"You don't have to worry about me, Mr. Kent. I'll try and do better, I promise."

The director's responding grin and muttered 'good girl' had her stomach turning, wondering if taking on this role was worth all of the stress and digusting comments.

* * *

"Don't forget that I have a tennis lesson tonight, so I won't be home for dinner!"

"Oh, don't you worry! How in the hell could I even _dare_ to forget about your left hand potentially going weak if you weren't constantly jerkin' your instructor off with it?", Michael shouted back in Amanda's general direction, knowing well that she wasn't listening to a sentence that didn't include the offer of money or a new Prada handbag.

Things in the De Santa household had been less than idyllic since their therapist's latest attempt to get the couple to 'work things out'. Amanda pulled it together for a few weeks, long enough for Tracey to go off to college (where Michael could only assume she was getting herself into some kind of trouble that would require his credit card to save her) – but as soon as that front door slammed shut behind her, the snide comments and rude remarks started right back up again. Sighing to himself over the never-ending drama, he moved the phone back up to his ear, waiting for the shocked man on the other end of the line to begin speaking again.

"Yo, is that your wife again? I gotta be honest with you, man, I don't know what you see in her.", Franklin spoke incredulously, well aware of the fact that he was toeing a line when discussing his friend's wife and her less-than-appropriate behavior. This was his friend and he wanted to be there for Michael; It's just that his distaste for the less-than-ideal home life was hard to contain after awhile.

In the recesses of his mind, Michael was well aware of the fact that, as her husband, he should stand up for Amanda, should defend her honor and dignity. After over ten years of the same bullshit, though, he just wasn't sure he had the fight left in him anymore. It wasn't as if it was a lie – Amanda changed sexual partners almost as often as most people changed their underwear, barely even bothering to hide it from plain sight anymore. The sexy stripper that he had convinced himself that he loved nearly 20 years ago had been replaced over time with a shrewd, harping, money-grubbing shell of a person who cared more about what others thought of her than what she thought of herself. The kids were the only things that had held the marriage together for so long, and now, even that was beginning to crumble.

"I don't know, man. Do yourself a favor, F – avoid getting married until you've already lost your will to live."


	2. Ch 2: Sidewalk Stars

**Title:** The Ghosts You Draw On My Back

 **Summary:** Charlotte Weston is a reluctant Vinewood actress, doing minor league roles that her grandfather, Solomon Richards, coerces her into. After one too many tantrums by demanding co-stars, she gets fed up – only to find herself talked off of the ledge by our favorite criminal-turned-producer, Michael De Santa. Will he be able to hold up his promise of being a better man, or will each of them fall victim to the Vinewood Dream?

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own GTA V, nor do I own any of the characters contained within (with the exception of Charlotte Weston)

 **A/N:** There's a couple of time jumps (like from Solomon's office to the car ride and then to the restaurant), mainly because it's late and I couldn't find a smooth way to transition.

* * *

"But if I stand like _that_ , all anyone is going to be paying attention to are her tits - not me!"

Another day, another disagreement. Charlotte had hoped that a night of sleep, albeit somewhat fitful, would have renewed her spirit and changed the way she was beginning to view the project - and in a way, it had. She no longer view it was 'doing Grandpa a favor' and instead viewed it as 'This is it. This is going to be the project that finally drives me to insanity. I'm going to wind up bludgeoning him to death with a prop hammer and will have to live with some new teenage wannabe star fresh off of the greyhound from South Bend playing me in the Lifetime adaptation of my life story'. That was...something, right?

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"I can't keep doing this, Grandpa!", she half-shouted in exasperation, pacing back and forth, feet having long-since worn a path through the office carpeting. Once the director called cut (complete with her co-star quite literally stomping off to his trailer), she had taken off for the administrative offices, ready to let her Grandfather know that he needed to find a new leading lady. Charlotte knew somewhere in the recesses of her mind that she should be grateful; Dozens of girls and women walked out of the Los Santos Airport with the stars in their eyes and dreams of being Vinewood famous - and here she was, having it all handed to her, wrapped up in a neat little package. It was when these thoughts crept tot he forefront that she felt that nagging feeling of guilt. Her home was paid for, car was covered, she never had to worry about where her next meal was going to come from or if her electric was going to get cut-off at any moment; It just felt wrong to complain.

Solomon watched his granddaughter pace through his office, feet having long-since worn a path through the carpeting that had been in the office for nearly as long as him. He had expected this day for a long time, had known that shoe-horning Charlotte into a career that she really didn't want was only bound to end miserably - but it was this or let her father ship her off to some distant place, slowly squandering away a wealth of talent. Devin Weston treated his businesses better than he had ever treated his wife or daughter, and Solomon was determined to not see his last remaining family member shipped away like a business that was no longer useful to the bottom line.

Both of them were yanked back into the present with a rhythmic tapping against the door. "Y'busy, Sol?", Michael's head peaked around the corner, ready to dodge any flying objects - having learned his lesson after breaking up a disagreement between the older man and a different leading lady, ending with a paperweight to the eye and an uncomfortable discussion with Amanda about where the black eye had come from. Solomon waved the man into the room, holding up a hand as if to pause the discussion between himself and Charlotte.

"Charlotte, this is Michael De Santa, the new producer. Michael, you already know my granddaughter, Charlotte."

Awkward introduction and obligatory handshake aside, Charlotte felt herself sizing up the man standing before her and judging by the intensity of his glare, she could only imagine that he was doing the same to her. His name had came up in conversation at family dinners a few times, and she had seen him making his way through the studios once or twice - but had never paid it much mind.

"I was just telling our dear Charlie-Girl that she shouldn't walk away just yet - give it a chance, think on it a little. What d'you think, Mike?"

A quick glance at the young woman made Michael's own anxiety and stress levels go up ten-fold. She radiated frustration, looking like a woman nearing the end of her rope and he was fairly certain that if Solomon hadn't intercepted her, Charlotte would probably have walked away from the movie and never looked back. "I think a good lunch couldn't hurt, get off of location for a little while."

Solomon grinned and if he didn't know better, Michael would've said that Solomon had winked at him, as if trying to transmit some secret, non-verbal message. "There's a diner down the street, if the two of you would like to take a couple hour long break. C'mon Charlie-Girl - just think on it for a couple of hours, would ya? For dear ole' Granddad?"

The look she gave Solomon could have burned a hole clean through some glass. Personally, she thought that going to lunch, thinking on the prospect of staying, would just have been delaying the inevitable. But, in a reversal of roles from her childhood, her Grandfather had learned the ways of guilting someone in an effort to get them to lean your way and was using them against her.

"Fine - I'll go to lunch with your boy here, but I really don't think that's going to change my opinion at all, Grandpa.", she remarked, leaning forwards to give him a kiss on the cheek.

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"So...what's your deal?", she spoke softly, glancing at the man who had so rapidly become a trusted member of Solomon's inner circle. "I mean, all my Grandfather said is that you helped him out and that you were going to be a producer on some of his work in the future."

Michael's car traveled down the interstate, passing cars randomly along the way. He had to give it to her - For someone who was ready to walk away less than thirty minutes prior, Charlotte was certainly willing to indulge in her natural curiosities.

"I helped the old man out a awhile back... _took care_ of some things that wanted to end movie production as we know it.", his voice rasped, being deliberately vague about the beating he had delivered to Rocco Pelosi on behalf of Richards Majestic Productions. "I guess he just likes the way I handle things is all."

Doubt flittered through Charlotte's mind, recalling her father's absolute rage a few weeks prior at a business deal (one with details she hadn't been privy to) falling through and the way Solomon had mysteriously hired Michael De Santa just a few days later. She wasn't naive to the fact that her father despised her Grandfather's nostalgic ways - but she hadn't wanted to believe that he was trying to single-handedly dismantle the family business either.

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The pair remained in the midst of a comfortable silence, allowing the waiter at the small restaurant to guide them to a quiet table on the deck. Neither wanted to make that first step, unsure of how to broach the topic - Michael in that he wanted to keep the starlett from walking out and leaving dozens of people out of work, and Charlotte in that she didn't want to let anyone down, least of all this curious stranger that had been tasked with talking her off of the ledge.

Shaking her head, Charlotte dragged her gaze up from the dirty cement of the sidewalk and leveled it on the man sitting opposite her. "I appreciate that you're trying to hold this shit-show of a movie together, which is a battle in and of itself. Clearly, there is reason to believe you're good at it, or someone would have escorted you from the lot and not allowed you to return.", she admitted letting the cold-hearted actress facade drop, even if just for a moment. That all-too-familiar guilty feeling was jumping up and down in the back of her mind, never letting her forget about all of the cast and crew who would be left in the wind if she were to quit mid-production. It must have shown on her face, judging by the way that Michael's features almost immediately softened, as if approaching a wounded animal.

"Hey, listening to grown men whine about 'Oh, there are only two pumps of hazlenut in my non-fat, skim milk, mocha-frappa-bullshit instead of three!' isn't exactly my idea of a good time either there, sweetpea", Michael spoke, not missing the way Charlotte's eyebrow raised at the bluntness of his statement or the way the corner of her mouth lifted ever-so-slightly as if biting back a laugh. It was nice, seeing a genuine reaction - part of him wishing that she just let it fly, instead of trying to hide it and become whatever she thought the people around her wanted to see. It stirred up a playful side that he thought he had buried years ago, along with his dignity and self-respect. "But it's what we get paid the big bucks for, and if you really think about it, it's not all that bad of a gig. Just a couple more weeks and then we can forget that it ever happened."

Nodding her head, Charlotte felt a true, honest-to-God grin tug at her features. "Y'know something, Michael? This...", she commented lightly, motioning between the two of them with her hands. "This has been deceptively nice."

Ignoring the sudden sense of warmth that the sound of his name from her mouth brought to him, Michael leaned back in his seat, nodding his head in confirmation.

 _'Maybe these next few weeks won't be so bad after all...'_

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Seated across the street, Dave Norton found himself wondering how it was that he kept ending up on the receiving end of the bad luck at the FIB. He had been the so-called "Golden Boy" after arresting Townley, after bringing the DA enough evidence to ensure that the charges would stick, should Michael ever step out of line and require...motivation for his continued cooperation. This felt wrong; The man finally seemed to have it together, although the recent addition of what Dave could only assume to be a blonde mistress had raised a flag or two about problems on the "De Santa" home front, but generally, with the exception of a low-level jewelry story bust, he had been flying under the radar for nearly ten years.

"I still could have nailed you for that, you smug son of a bitch", the man muttered under his breath, eyes carefully trained on the pair casually enjoying their lunch. _"No, you couldn't have, Norton. Quit lyin' to yourself"_ , he heard the small earpiece in his right ear crackle to life, the voice of the permanent pain in his ass rising star FIB Agent Steve Haines coming through loud and clear from his position back at headquarters followed up by a sarcastic laugh, one that had Dave longing for the days of his youth, when he would've decked Haines without so much as a second thought. _"I told you to get surveillance photos of little Miss Weston, not get your rocks off over the highlight of your career. Take the damned pictures and get your ass back here, pronto. You'll be able to reminisce with her about her boytoy's glory days soon enough. Haines out."_

This all felt so wrong.


	3. Ch 3: Learning How To Smile

**Title:** The Ghosts You Draw On My Back

 **Summary:** Charlotte Weston is a reluctant Vinewood actress, doing minor league roles that her grandfather, Solomon Richards, coerces her into. After one too many tantrums by demanding co-stars, she gets fed up – only to find herself talked off of the ledge by our favorite criminal-turned-producer, Michael De Santa. Will he be able to hold up his promise of being a better man, or will each of them fall victim to the Vinewood Dream?

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own GTA V, nor do I own any of the characters contained within (with the exception of Charlotte Weston)

 **A/N:** If you haven't read the revised version of chapter two, I would urge you to do so. There will be some areas where it seems like I don't go much into the one-on-one interactions between Michael and Charlotte – but that's generally because I plot a rough outline of a story before I write and publish it. It gets the main plot points and enough extra to fill out a chapter, but the minutiae often goes unnoticed. I may write some of these encounters out as one-shots later on down the road (in fact, I can almost guarantee that THAT is what will happen)

* * *

It had started out with actually saying 'hello' when they saw each other around the lot, giving a honk if they happened to pass each other coming in to the parking lot – eventually becoming Charlotte bringing Michael a coffee from his favorite coffee shop in Pillbox Hill ("Black, two sugars", she thought every time she ordered for him) or Michael bringing her a funnel cake from Vespucci Beach ("with plenty of powdered sugar, enough that I can do one hell of a Tony Montana impression!", she had joked the first time he had brought her the sugary sweet treat). A few times a week, they'd venture out to get some lunch with one another – sometimes with other production crew members, other times on their own.

When she had stumbled upon a box of old movies while helping her Grandfather clean out the garage, the first person she had thought to call was Michael; They ended up having an old movie night – but after a few drinks, the pair ended up passed out the sofa, the cold light of morning finding Charlotte's back pulled against his chest, a protective arm holding her close. Truth be told, it was the most relaxed, most refreshing sleep he could remember having in recent memory. Hell, most days Amanda was showered, dressed, and engaging in yoga or tennis or whatever the fad of the week was long before Michael could even roll out of bed. Even when they first got married, she refused to lay too close to him when they slept, insisting that he got too hot and sweaty.

"It sounds like it's just a friendship between two co-workers." a voice echoed, making Michael pause from his spot in the closet, getting dressed and ready for the movie premier that evening, the night that he had spent the last few months working towards.

"Then why can I not shake the feeling that I'm doin' something wrong? That I'm runnin' around behind my wife's back again? I might not know much here, Doc, but I'm pretty sure that thinkin' of a woman like this would count as one of those relapse things you're always goin' on about.", Michael wondered out loud, expecting the voice on the other end of the speakerphone to confirm his suspicions, to chastise him for once again indulging himself rather than thinking of his family.

"Well, now Micahel", he heard Dr. Friedlander begin, bracing himself for the good doctor's reaction. "From the sounds of things, you haven't actually _done_ anything yet, have you?"

"Well, no bu-"

"Okay, then I don't see it as a relapse; I see it as a man who likes the attention and adoration that young lady is giving you, rather than the relationship you have with your wife. You've been married for nearly twenty years, of course some of the shine has long since worn off of the relationship with Amanda. Besides, relapse is a vital part of recovery."

"Wait a minute, I thought you just said you didn't view this as a relap-"

"By the way, while I have your attention, your insurance ran out. I don't suppose you could pay cash from now on? The rate for that is slightly higher – cost of cutting out the banks and all of that. We can discuss this more at your next visit, but I'm afraid this is all we have time for today. Be well, and remember, brother, we're all rowing together. Now, cross that ocean.", Dr. Friedlander spoke quickly, as if rushing to get off of the phone before he were forced into giving actual advice.

With a sigh, Michael hung up the phone call, taking one last look at himself in the mirror. His hairline was a little further back than it was several years ago, stubble on his chin a little grayer, his gut protruding a little more than he was comfortable with. Amanda never hesitated to point out his failings, both physically, financially, and emotionally – but with Charlotte? It was just two people enjoying each other's company, never concerned about appearances.

Was it _really_ so awful of him to want to indulge in those feelings as much as possible?

* * *

Charlotte would have been lying to herself is she said that she hadn't grown to enjoy the time that she and Michael were spending together; It was rare to find someone who actually wanted to spend time with _her_ , not just because they figured she could give them easy access to Solomon or on occasion, even her father. Old movies, trips to Vespucci Beach, shooting pool with his buddy Franklin at sketchy bars in Chamberlain Hills, taking drives up to Sandy Shores while simultaneously warning her to avoid Trevor unless she was with him or Franklin ("Probably just me, though. Let's be real, T is a few cocoa crispies short of being Count Chocula, if you catch my drift.") - They were all such simple activities that her father had said were beneath her social standing as a Weston, but they also satisfied some part of her soul that she hadn't even known was empty.

* * *

"We did it! We fucking did it!", Solomon shouted, arms raised as Michael approached the duo, accompanied by his son, Jimmy. The friendly interaction brought a smile to her face; After months of problem after problem, tantrum after tantrum, the movie was finally here. Lights flashed as the various paparazzi snapped pictures of their favorite celebrities, ready to sell them to whatever magazine wanted to run a 'Hot or Not' fashion column the next morning. "I might be a lecherous old has-been, but I'm a has-been with a premier at the Oriental Theatre on Vinewood Boulevard!"

Everyone was so relaxed, quite the change from the stress-fueled nights that had become commonplace, both during filming and post-production. Nights like this, ones where they all got to dress to the nines and enjoy each other's company were like everyone collectively releasing the breaths they held, while waiting to see if the film would be successful or not.

"Hey! Hope I'm not too late – I wouldn't miss this for the world!", Devin practically shouted as he hustled towards them. Something about the interaction just felt...off to Charlotte, accentuated by the way Solomon and Michael both tensed up when her father walked up to them. "Hey, what a movie, huh? Meltdown! - Congrats, Mikey, we did it."

 _'We?'_ , she thought to herself. Her father hadn't been involved with the production, at least not as far as Charlotte was aware; He had never been to the lot, had never mentioned it beyond asking her how her day was (though she could tell that her father rarely paid attention to what followed that question).

"You – you two know each other?", she questioned, eyes darting between her father and Michael, two people that she couldn't imagine willingly spending time with one another. Charlotte loved her father, but he was business-oriented and if you didn't fit into that world, you were of little relevance to him. Michael nodded tensely, eyes never leaving Devin, as if waiting for him to strike.

"Yes, Mr. De Santa and I have quite the history, don't we? I'll be inside, Charlotte. Come in and find me when you're done." With a kiss on his daughter's cheek, Devin sent one last smirk in Michael's direction before heading into the theatre. She turned to Michael, prepared to inquire about how the pair knew each other when grabbed her arm, steering them into theatre restrooms, careful to make sure it was empty before speaking.

"What the _hell_ Michael?", she hissed, shaking her arm free of his grasp. "That couldn't have been anymore awkward if you two had actually tried to make it awkward."

Michael was pacing the bathroom, looking for the right words to explain his connection to Devin Weston without Charlotte looking at him like he was insane. The last person he had explained any of this to, outside of Franklin, had been Amanda nearly twenty years prior; All she had cared about was if he continued to keep her in nice clothes and fancy cars – Instinct told him that a girl like Charlotte might feel differently.

"Look, you remember I told you I know people?", he questioned, waiting until Charlotte nodded her head in confirmation before continuing. "It's 'cause back in the day, I did some shit – some real bad shit. I just..." With a heavy sigh (and a touch of bourbon-induced courage from the sip he had stolen from his flask earlier in the evening), Michael took a deep breath before speaking again. "I got a lot of bad people gunnin' for me – The FIB, The IAA, Merryweather – That's how I know your father, alright? Trevor did somethin' real stupid a while back and we all ended up on their radar."

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, searching for words that just never came. Part of her wanted to deny it, to smack him on the arm and tell him he was being an asshat before going back in to the party – but another part of her knew, could tell that the story he was telling her was really the truth. A gut feeling had told her that her father's company had been doing some less-than-honorable business and with the way Michael had been warning her away from Trevor, the way the two men frequently talked under the breaths when all three of them spent any time together, she figured there had to have been a reason.

"Look, I done a lot of things that I ain't proud of, okay? I never claimed to be an angel. But if you knew, Charlie...If you knew about all of it, you'd be runnin' in the opposite direction and never lookin' back. I'm a bad fuckin' guy.", Michael choked out, the weight of the ten-ton bolder that had wedged itself firmly onto his shoulders shifting ever-so-slightly with his confession. It was a big risk, telling her about that part of himself; Devin Weston was a powerful man, and he knew that, for Charlotte, getting involved with a guy like him would put her squarely in the middle of her father (and subsequently Merryweather's) radar. He wouldn't have blamed her for walking away from whatever this thing between them was. The look of shame was etched into Michael's face – It was as if he had somehow aged twenty years since the conversation had began; Gone was the excited, proud producer and in his place was a weary, road-worn man who had dealt with more than his fair share of struggle in his life.

"Well, I don't...I don't know about _that_ ", she stammered, glancing down at her feet for a moment before dragging her gaze back up to the icy blue gaze that was currently searching her face for any hint as to what she thought of him. "I think...I think maybe you're a good guy that was forced into a bad situation, y'know? And maybe I'm wrong, I don't know. I mean, what could a rich white girl from Vinewood Hills know about struggles and bad situations, right? It's jus- "

Charlotte's words were cut off abruptly by the forceful (and yet, somehow still gentle) press of Michael's lips against her own. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she could hear _something_ screaming at her that she should stop this, should turn Michael away and send him back to Amanda, should pretend that this never happened, should be doing any one of a hundred different things – but the only thing she found herself actually doing was indulging in the softness of the kiss and the way it made her feel alive.

"Dad! Da-ad, where are you?"

Jimmy's voice cut through the air like a hot knife, sending Charlotte and Michael stumbling away from each other, chests heaving as if they had just finished running a marathon. The sound of the De Santa son eagerly shouting about being a producer's son announced his presence shortly before his came tumbling around the corner, eyes immediately lowering into a knowing state, as if it weren't the first time he had caught his father in an awkward position.

"I should, um, yeah, I should go.", Charlotte spoke softly, trying (and failing) to ignore the way her voice wavered ever so slightly. Her hands smoothed the imaginary-wrinkles out of her gown, suddenly feeling much colder than she had even just a few seconds prior.

A frisson of panic rolled through Michael, every fiber of his being begging him to go after her, to go tell Amanda exactly where she could shove whatever frivolous demands she had this time before going to join the person he really wanted to be with – but instead, he remained glued to the spot, eyes begging Charlotte 's retreating form to understand. _'Just a little bit longer, baby'_ , he thought to himself. _'just stick with me for a little bit longer'_


End file.
